Red Bicycle
by PhoenixoftheLostandForgotten
Summary: "Look at you, beamin' away like you're Father Christmas." "Who says I'm not? Red bicycle when you were twelve?" Nine and Rose have a chance meeting. Pre-series.


**A/N: Okay, fair warning to everyone in the U.K., I'm American. I tried to get as many phrases as I could right (like changing 'apartment' to 'flat', 'TV' to 'telly', etc.) so please don't rip my head off. Flames will be used to roast Davros on a stick. **

Earth, 1998. Christmas Eve. A time of peace and joy for humankind. Unfortunately, the Doctor was far from human. The alien wandered aimlessly down the streets of London, watching the race he had sworn to protect as they hustled and bustled about, singing Christmas carols and doing last-minute shopping. Snow fell gently from the sky, adding to the Christmas-y atmosphere. Everything was cheery and bright and happy and joyful. Everything except him. He, the alien without a home, the newly-appointed last of the Time Lords, was neither cheery nor bright, happy or joyful. Not anymore. No, he was just a weary old soldier in a battered leather jacket, a madman with nothing but a box to his name. He turned down an old alley, leaving behind the lights and the crowds and the totally oblivious humans. He walked down the darker streets, glancing at the homeless huddled around a dwindling bum fire.* He took out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the dying fire, which crackled and sprang back into life. The people clustered around gave small sighs of relief, thankful that they wouldn't have to freeze to death on Christmas Eve. One of them looked at the Doctor and nodded his thanks. The Time Lord turned away and walked on.

He eventually happened upon a small playground. The slides were pitted and cracked, the merry-go-round was rusted over, and all but two of the swings were broken. One swing was occupied. A little girl, no older than twelve, sat alone in the decrepit playground, swinging gently and staring at her feet. He couldn't see her footprints in the snow, so she must have been sitting there for a while. There might as well have been a flashing neon sign that said 'Lonely Little Girl Here.'

He made a split-second decision and walked over to her, lowering himself onto the only other functionong swing. She watched him warily from where she sat, ready to either run or scream if he tried to hurt her. Good. This wasn't the safest neighborhood for a little girl to be wandering in the middle of the night.

"Hello," the Doctor said.

"Hi," the girl said softly.

"It's pretty cold out here. Shouldn't you be inside, where it's warm?" the Doctor asked. The girl shrugged in reply, too suspiscious to answer. He kept on going. "I really doubt that your parents want you to get hypothermia for no reason. Where are your parents, anyway? Inside, wrapping up some presents last-minute?"

"Are you asking if anyone will miss me if you kidnap me?" she replied, obviously still wary. At least she answered this time.

"Why would I want to kidnap you?" the Doctor asked.

She shrugged again. "I dunno. To sell me on the black market?'

"If you're so worried about me trying to sell you, then why are you still talking to me?"

She studied him for a moment. "You don't seem like the kind of person that'd do something like that."

"Then what kind of person do I seem like?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Her answer suprised him. "You're a soldier, and you've done some things you aren't proud of. And you're really lonely. But ya still got a good heart."

He gave a small, sad smile, looking down at his feet. This girl was too old for her age. She'd obviously been forced to grow up too fast. "And what about you? Why are you sitting out here on Christmas Eve, talking to a daft old man like me instead of being inside with your family?"

She sighed slightly, looking down at her feet. "Mum's at some Christmas party. Might not be back 'til tomorrow. Even if she comes home tonight, she'll be drunk off her rocker. I'll spend the rest of the night holdin' her hair while she pukes."

"And your Dad?"

"Died when I was little. 'S what drove Mum to drinkin'."

"I'm sorry." And he really was. Such a sweet little girl didn't deserve a life of holding her mother's hair back and sitting on swings during Christmas-time.

"That's what they all say," she muttered.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then the Doctor asked her, "If you could have anything for Christmas, anything at all, what would it be?"

"Doesn't matter. Mum can't afford it." She shivered. That was when the Doctor noticed her clothes. Her pink coat looked almost as old as him, and her boots weren't much better. Both were too thin to do much good against the biting chill. Her beanie was much too big for her, covering her ears and most of her forehead, letting her blond hair spill out over her eyes. She had no gloves on. The Doctor mentally kicked himself for not noticing how cold she was. He took off his battered leather jacket and put it around her shoulders. "Here," he said. She instinctively snuggled into the warm fabric. It wasn't much, but it would help keep out the slight wind, which was blowing snowflakes right into their faces.

"Won't you be cold?" she asked him, noticing that he only wore a black T-shirt.

"Nah," he replied with a slight smile. "I'll be fine. So. Anything for Christmas, what would it be?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter. We can't afford it."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Ignoring the money, what would you want? There's got to be something."

"Not really," she shrugged.

He turned in the swing to face her fully. "Every little girl has something she dreams about getting for Christmas, whether they want to admit it or not."

She cocked her head at him. "Do you have kids?"

"I have-" He corrected himself. "_Had _a daughter. And a granddaughter. Now quit stalling and answer the question."

"Well... There is this one bike." She ignored the strange man's smug expression. "It's the red one they have in the shop window down there." She nodded down the street. Then her face fell slightly. "But Mum says we can't afford it. She says that walking to school is just as easy anyways."

Suddenly, they heard the clock tower start to ring. It was midnight.

"Merry Christmas," the Doctor said to the girl.

"Merry Christmas," she replied. "I should probably get back home."

"Of course." They both stood. She handed him his jacket back. "Nice meetin' ya."

"You too," he said as he shrugged his jacket back on. He wouldn't admit it, but he had been freezing the entire time. He'd been clenching his teeth together to keep them from chattering. The girl gave him one last look before she started up the stairs to her flat. The Doctor started to walk away as well, but had a sudden thought.

"Wait," he called up to the girl. She stopped and leaned over the balcony. "What's your name?"

"M' name's Rose," she replied.

"Rose," he repeated. "Nice name. You should definitely keep it." She smiled down at him, then went back to her door, unlocking it and stepping inside. The Doctor lingered for a moment, then started down the street. No longer wandering aimlessly, he kept an eye out for the shop Rose had mentioned. Spotting that it was still open, he hurried inside and bought the bike, then carried it back to the TARDIS. He took out one of the floor grates and dug around for a bit, finally coming out with a length of pink silk. He tied the ribbon onto the handlebars in a beautiful bow, and picked the bike up again, this time carrying it to Rose's high rise.** He sat on a bench outside and waited for the light in her window to go out. At one point a police officer stopped and asked him what he was doing.

"Last year, she found her present early, so this year I'm waiting for her to go to sleep so I can suprise her with this," he explained (with a bit of embellishment, of course), gesturing to the bike.

"Ah," the cop said, smiling and nodding. "Clever. I might have to remember that one for next year. The little ones always manage to find 'em, no matter where thay're hidden. Merry Christmas, sir."

"And you."

About an hour later, the light finally went out. He waited a little bit for her to get to sleep, then carried the bike up to the door. He unlocked the door with his sonic, then silently wheeled the bike inside. He parked it in front of the sad branch that was passing for a Christmas tree, then noticed a pad of Post-It notes on the table. He wrote on one of them and stuck it to the bike, right next to the bow. He crept out of the tiny flat, locking the door behind him.

Rose Tyler woke up the next morning at 8 a.m. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and walked into the main room to watch some telly.

_Christmas already, _she thought to herself. _Great._

She expected to see the pitiful tree with the pitiful presents and the pitiful decorations, but she most definitely did not expect to see the beautiful, gleaming red bike sitting in front of her. There was a pink ribbon (was that silk? she couldn't tell) tied to the handlebars in the neatest bow she had ever seen. There was a Post-It note (which seemed so out of place next to the brand new bike and silk bow) also attatched to the handlebars. She was just reaching for it when the door opened, revealing a hungover Jackie Tyler.

"Thank you, Mum, thank you so much!" Rose squealed, not noticing her mother's wince at the volume of her voice. She ran over and squeezed her mother as hard as she could.

"Thanks for what, Rose?" she asked, confused.

The girl looked up at Jackie. "You didn't get me the bike?" Now they were both confused.

"I told you, sweetheart, we can't afford it righ' now."

"Then who got me that?" she asked, pointing at the bike.

"I don't know. Why don't you look at the card while I go lay down, 'kay?" Jackie told her daughter, assuming it had just been a friend or neighbor being nice. She walked into her room and shut the door, most likely to sleep off her hangover.

Rose turned back to her new bike. She grabbed the Post-It note and gasped, her faith in Santa suddenly renewed.

The note said, _Don't ever change, Rose. Stay as sweet and kind as you are now. I know that you're going to do great things one day._

_ -Father Christmas_

***A bum fire is a fire out of a metal barrel**

****Is it a high rise or a tower block? I've heard it both ways, and I wasn't sure what to put, so I just put high rise. **


End file.
